


Operationally Sensitive

by austenfan1990



Series: And Then They Came For Us [4]
Category: Babylon (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austenfan1990/pseuds/austenfan1990
Summary: Liz and Finn attend a charity gala and have a run-in with a photographer which is anything but routine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Got this idea into my head after making this [gifset](http://almaviva90.tumblr.com/post/152447900202%22) on Tumblr. 
> 
> I apologise in advance for the truly awful pop references, analogies, and not to mention typos I'm subjecting my readers to. Timeline-wise, this would probably be set after _Things that go bump in the night_.

They suddenly become aware of a successive flurry of shutter clicks in close proximity.

‘Oh, fuck.’ Finn is sharing her expression of heightened alarm.

‘I didn’t bring my lanyard with me,’ groans Liz as the photographer, oblivious to the import of his latest snap, begins to walk off.

Despite his mind going into mini-crisis mode, Finn takes a moment to digest this. ‘It’s your ID, Liz. You’re not fucking Chuck Norris, Texas Ranger.’ He eyes her dress warily. ‘I hope you don’t stuff it down your cleavage on a regular basis.’

‘FYI, I’ll be declaring it a non-Finn zone from now on if we don’t get that camera.’ They rush out in pursuit but they soon discover it’s far easier strong-arming someone into giving up their memory cards at a possible crime scene or a youth offenders’ institution, and not in the middle of a packed City Hall gala.

Not so subtly shadowing the photographer around the room, their behaviour inevitably raises a few eyebrows. Eventually, Inglis pulls in his hassled-looking Head of Comms for a word. ‘What the hell is going on, Liz?’

‘We’ve got an issue with the photographer, Charles,’ replies Liz lightly. ‘He’s been snapping photos you’d rather not see.’

The Commissioner doesn’t take in this bullshit for a minute. ‘I’m flattered by your consideration but I doubt I’m at the very top of this list. More like you and Finn, the Comms department and maybe…Caroline Carey?’ Her widening eyes are enough to confirm his doubts. ‘Compromising photos?’ he asks, almost in resignation.

‘Not really.’ Liz feels supremely self-conscious.

‘At least I can trust the both of you to be fairly discreet in this respect.’ Oh God, _he_ knows. How? She doesn’t ask how. ‘Let it go.’

‘And the photos, Commissioner?’

‘Who knows, they might become iconic. Scotland Yard’s equivalent of Honecker and Brezhnev.’ Liz winces but takes in his words regardless.

Although Inglis is smiling, there’s a shard of ice in it. As always. ‘And ask Finn to fucking stand down, he looks like he’s about to eat everyone,’ he orders, taking a bite out of his hors d’oeuvre. ‘I’m not sure being in black tie improves it, either.’

She beats a hasty retreat and after locating him, drags her…Deputy to a secluded corner – though not before checking for errant photographers. Finn gapes when she relates her awkward exchange with Inglis.

‘How does he know about us?’ she demands.

‘Forget how he knows,’ says Finn uneasily. His eyes light up when he spots his target and is outraged when Liz yanks him back. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Haven't you listened to anything I've said?’ she hisses.

‘Since when did you become the Commissioner’s teacher’s pet? So, do we let camera-boy here off scot-free with his scoop of the day?’

‘We might still have a chance of filtering the photos. I mean, we have the right to sign off on anything related to us and Inglis. And besides…’ Finn’s anxiety begins to escalate with each passing second that she’s silent.

‘Besides what, Liz?’ It practically comes out as a shout. A nearby waiter almost spills champagne down the Mayor’s jacket. The ensuing chaos provides a helpful distraction.   

She’s biting her lip now; never a good sign. ‘What actually is there to cover up? Two unmarried Heads of Comms…’

‘Don’t you start,’ warns Finn.

‘…letting their hair down…’

‘Liz, I swear I’m going to flick this toothpick olive into your eye, taxpayer money notwithstanding.’ He gulps when she smoothly sidles towards him and elegantly pops it back into his glass. Only then does she notice his choice of drink, momentarily diverting her attention.

‘Seriously, Finn? A martini?’

‘What? I allow myself a drink or two, sometimes.’

‘Yeah? And I think I’m standing in front of a James Bond wannabe. Come on, admit it.’

‘And what are you then? Blofeld?’ he says, evidently aiming for a sneer but falling flat and it comes out as a feeble shot in the dark. ‘You should have told me to bring the cat.’

‘Forget Blofeld. I’m Dame Judi fucking Dench.’

There's a protracted silence. ‘Okay, I admit I walked right into that one,’ says Finn. ‘But I don’t recall M getting caught snogging her field agent at a public event.’

‘It wasn’t a _snog_ …’

‘Really?’ Finn’s voice is now disgustingly low and shit, there’s even a flash of teeth. He’s also subconsciously boxing her into this corner which, on second thought, might have been _too_ secluded. ‘Disregarding the fact that you had your tongue in my mouth.’

‘There you go, proof that I’m Judi Dench, after all. I didn’t get round sticking it halfway down your throat…’ – Finn lets out a noise which suspiciously sounds like a whimper – ‘…as she promised Daniel Craig, but hey, I work with what I’m given.’  

They hold each other’s heated gaze which then inevitably flickers downwards to their lips. Great. Back to where they started and how they got into this mess.

‘So let me get this straight, Liz. Tomorrow morning, the world is going to wake up to Scotland Yard’s Director and Deputy of Comms sharing a private moment and you’re going to spin it as an impromptu Judi Dench/Daniel Craig tribute? Jesus, that’s fucked up…though you being you, not more than usual.’

‘Either that, or we have the Met’s take on Honecker and Brezhnev. Or better yet, let’s throw out pop references altogether. Why not simply Liz Garvey and Finn Kirkwood? As we – they are?’

His eyes narrow. ‘Is this your way of broadcasting our…whatever this is to the entire world? I knew you were an exhibitionist but bloody hell.’ His fingers comb agitatedly through his hair. ‘And don’t I have a fucking say in this?’

She laughs coldly, mirthlessly, and the sound is weirdly soothing to him. ‘Like I ever had a say in the thousand times you went behind my back, undermined my authority, tried to tarnish my credibility (‘You didn’t need much help, actually,’ snipes Finn lowly) and fucked me around.’ She pauses. ‘Metaphorically speaking. And this is me asking, by the way, if you hadn’t realised yet.’

‘Christ, this is worse than the dark, Moria-like depths of Metwork.’

‘What’s the worst Caroline Carey and her cronies can do? Loath as you might want to admit it, we don’t exactly qualify as front page news. A column on your beloved page six, maybe? And then what? Typical gossipy jibes at our “special relationship”, possible wedding bells…’

Finn looks distinctly queasy, but that might be the alcohol talking. ‘Liz, stop. You’re making us sound like a pair of celebrities.’

Liz shrugs. ‘Well, I did have that little fan club on Twitter.’ _That_ discovery had been unexpected and so had been its sudden demise. ‘You know, I never got round to thanking you for scaring the shit out of Explosives Officer Talbot,’ she drawls, a tad accusatorily.

He rolls his eyes; they’ve been over this before. ‘I merely questioned the appropriateness of a member of the Metropolitan Police Service expressing an admiration for the Director of Communications in a public forum. What happened afterwards,’ he says, waving his hands emphatically, ‘was completely out of my control.’

(Both of them know that’s a lie. Somehow her Deputy had caught a whiff of what had happened at the Thameside Centre and with Finn being Finn, stinging jealousy had dictated his subsequent actions.)

Finn sighs, knowing that he’s avoiding her question. ‘But okay, Liz. Let’s give it a go.’

Liz notices he’s quoting himself, almost verbatim, from last September, and she can’t tell whether it’s deliberate. She lets it pass.

* * *

The following morning, Liz spends nearly all of it discreetly refreshing the photographer’s website on her computer. When she and Finn get called into Inglis’s office for a brief discussion about his next meeting with the Deputy Mayor, she asks Mia to keep an eye on things.

‘He’s had some technical difficulties,’ explains Mia when they finally break for lunch. ‘But they should all be up now.’

‘Thanks, Mia.’ Liz settles at her desk and loads up the site on her laptop.

‘So, how was last night? Finn says it was awful.’

‘Only because he couldn’t spend the evening browsing YouPorn,’ mutters Liz. ‘Huh.’

‘Something the matter?’

Mia watches her boss scroll rapidly up and down the screen several times, squinting dangerously as she does so. Not long after, Liz is storming over to Finn’s office.

Unsurprisingly, he is nowhere to be seen. Asshole. She strides back to her own office and immediately spies him loitering around her door.

‘Would I be wrong in assuming you had something to do with this morning’s “technical difficulties”?’ she says by way of greeting. Mia wisely takes this as a sign to make herself scarce, quietly closing the door behind her. ‘Because I don’t see all the guy’s photos on his site,’ Liz notes, pointing at her laptop screen. She doesn’t have to say which ones.

‘So what if I did have a hand in it?’ replies Finn, hands stuffed defiantly in his pockets. ‘Look, I know what I said last night and what I…agreed to. Sort of, in a half-drunken state. And about Inglis…’

‘Which reminds me, you didn’t only flout my orders, but the Commissioner’s as well. Way to go, Finn.’

‘Inglis is a brilliant police officer, but he doesn’t know how PR works,’ claims Finn.

‘I don’t know about that. Last time I checked, he was one-up on you when it came to speaking with Mrs Jeffries after her son was shot to death.’

He carelessly brushes this off, as he would a fly, and this makes her blood boil.

‘Why are you so keen to flaunt this about anyway? Is it gnawing insecurity? A desire to tell the world that you’re currently sharing your bed with someone, desperate to show that Elizabeth Garvey isn’t alone in London?’

‘Fuck you,’ spits Liz. ‘And if you think, for one second, that whole clusterfuck last night was about me, you clearly don’t know how relationships and transparency work!’

 _That_ makes him wince. The ‘R’ and ‘T’ words: a double whammy in a single sentence. Liz folds her arms, bracing herself for his ripostes…which seem an inordinately long time in coming. She regards him cautiously and is taken aback, after a few painful minutes, to see his shoulders sagging, if only by a fraction.

‘Well,’ he says. ‘You’re right there.’ Stated, it seems, as a fact. Out of experience, she waits for the sarcastic addendum but it also doesn’t seem forthcoming. ‘Can I just be really open and honest with you, Liz?’

Fine, if that’s how he wants to play it.

‘That’s an interesting question you’ve previously tried and failed at.’

‘I don’t know about you but you’re the first person I’ve been in a steady relationship with.’

‘Steady?’

‘Yeah, as in things not going catastrophically wrong from the get-go.’

‘Okay.’ Liz raises a querying finger. ‘Does this discount the riots and London nearly burning to a crisp?’

‘Definitely discounting that.’

Unusually at a loss for words, Finn rummages for his gum and pops a piece into his mouth. ‘I don’t know how quite to explain it. It’s irrational, maybe. But I don’t feel comfortable about the wider world knowing about’ – he gestures vaguely with his hands – ‘us just yet. I’m fine with Charles, Mia, fuck, even the entire department knowing, but other than them…no.’ He chomps on his gum, tempted to laugh hysterically at how terribly inarticulate he is. ‘I guess what I want to say is: I don’t want Liz Garvey and Finn Kirkwood going the way of Liz Garvey and Richard Miller.’

Now it’s Liz’s turn to wince – which wasn’t his intention. She stares at him, opens her mouth then closes it. He can see her mind working furiously and he doesn’t have to wait long to hear what she’s got to say.

‘I get it now; you don’t wanna jinx things. You’re thinking of that picture of Richard and me which made the media rounds.’

Finn nods. ‘We both know better than anyone how toxic social media can be. Once you put something out there, it’s up for grabs and it’s no longer yours. It becomes a source of admiration, derision or ridicule. A target for exploitation, manipulation and wide open to interpretation, valid or otherwise.’

Liz ponders this for a moment, evidently impressed and not a little touched. This is a sensitive, vulnerable side of Finn which she hasn’t seen yet. It’s odd and rather endearing, but probably, she concludes, best experienced in small doses.

Outwardly she says, ‘You know, you could have told me all this last night rather than going behind my back again and pissing me off.’

‘As you said, I clearly don’t know how relationships and transparency work.’

‘Clearly,’ she deadpans. ‘But that’s part of your twisted charm, isn’t it?’

She’s staring at him again, only this time there’s a gleam in her eye and a smile about her lips. Finn instantly takes the opportunity to glue his eyes to the floor while fumbling in his pockets. Liz guesses he’s looking for more gum and is therefore surprised to see him pulling out a flash drive.

‘What’s this?’

‘The redacted photos…of us. I had them sent over and told him to delete the master copies.’ He flings it on to her desk, as if it’s a live grenade. ‘Just keep this between ourselves, all right? Er, I’m just gonna pop down and grab some lunch. Bye.’

He rushes out of the room, looking harried. Liz loads up the drive and doesn’t quite know what to expect, if Finn’s behaviour is anything to go by. Taking a deep breath, she clicks on the first image file. She moves on to the next one, then the one after that. At the end of it, her earlier smile has transformed into a grin.

Honestly, Liz wonders what the fuss was about. All in all, the photos are chaste, perhaps even _sweet_ (she’s grateful that the photographer hadn’t caught them a few seconds earlier when things had been a bit more…heated) and basically confirm what their lift’s mirrored walls have shown all along: they make a pretty good pairing, aesthetically-wise.

She also makes a mental note that she should get Finn in a dinner jacket more often. Though preferably without a martini.


End file.
